The Greatest Plague of Life: or, the Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Servant.

wasn’t going to sink down to one again in a hurry; and, bother take it! to have to go ill again, may be, or leave my stingy Mr. Edward a second time—“for ever!” perhaps, before I could get him to let me have another. Besides, that great big lazy porpoise of a Mr. Duffy, was always grumbling about having to clean a few trumpery boots and knives, and talking about the families of quality he had lived in—(I never saw such quality!) where he had been accustomed to have a lad under him—so, all things considered, I really couldn’t bring my heart to turn a poor orphan like that monkey of a Wittals into the cold streets, and, accordingly with my usual good nature, made up my mind to keep the pair of them—at least until their liveries were fairly worn out.

Upon my word, at times, I was sorry that I hadn’t taken Edward’s advice, for that Wittals made Duffy no better, and that Duffy only made Wittals much worse. Now, I dare say, the reader will imagine that, with two male servants in the house, and little or nothing for them to do, I might at least have got so much as a simple bell answered; but, oh dear, no! I might pull and pull as though I was up in a filthy belfry pulling my arms off for a leg of mutton and trimmings; and yet, there Mr. Duffy would sit, roasting his fat calves before the fire, as unconcerned as a mute at a street door—with his precious “Oh, ah! let ’em ring again!”—while that idle vagabond of a Mr. Wittals sat stock still, with both his hands stuffed into the pockets of his mulberry pantaloons, as if they were made of cast iron, and grinning away, as though he thought it a capital joke to trifle with my feelings. Then, positively, too, if that Duffy didn’t go and so inoculate that Wittals with his nasty, familiar ways, that, as for getting any respect out of the pair of them, Lord bless you! one might just as well have looked for civility from a cabman after paying him his legal fare. If I happened to meet either of them in the street, not so much as a touch of the hat could they treat me to; and do what I would, I could no more get them to put ‘Mam’ at the end of their sentences when they spoke to me, than if they had been a couple of clerks at a railway station. First, I should have that Wittals speaking of my little angel of a Catherine, as “Kitty,” to my very face, though I had told him, over and over again, that the cherub’s name was Miss Sk—n—st—n, and begged of him not to let me hear him ‘Kitty’ her again, if he wanted to stop in my house; but, as the monkey knew very well that I couldn’t turn him out of it, of course he didn’t care two pins about what I said. Then I should have that great fat Duffy coming strolling into the parlour as slow as an omnibus half full, and asking, “How many we should be to dinner to-day?”—putting me in such a passion with his “We’s” (as if he was one of the family), that I used to say, “We! whom do you mean by we, I should like to know, sir? I and your master will dine at home to-day, and that’s the only we I am acquainted with in this house; though, perhaps, by your we’s, you’d like to sit down to the table with us—and, I’m sure, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you did, for you certainly seem to me always to forget who you are, and what you are, and where you came from.”

But where was the good of wasting one’s breath upon a great fat lazy pig, that was dead to every moral as well as religious tie? Now, I think I have told the reader somewhere in my interesting little work, that one of my principal inducements in getting Edward to consent to my keeping a footman, was the standing it gives one, in this, alas! empty world, to have a fine handsome man-servant in an elegant showy livery to carry your prayer books behind you to church, and to come up to your pew and fetch than again after divine service, (which, thank goodness, I can safely lay my head on my pillow at night, and say, that ever since I have kept house, and had an example to set my servants, I have always made a point of attending—unless, indeed, I have known that one of those beggarly collections was going to take place at the doors.) Well! as I was going to say, upon my word, I had much better have taken no footman to church at all, as that heathen of a Duffy; for as soon as we stood up for the first hymn, and I turned round to observe how his livery looked among the congregated footmen, and whether he was paying a proper attention to his religious duties or not, there I should be certain to see him, directly he caught my eye, take his hat, and putting his handkerchief to his nose, to make believe it was bleeding, sneak down the aisle on tiptoe; and I should never clap eyes on the livery again until church was all over, when I should have him coming back smelling of beer and tobacco, enough to knock the whole congregation down—though where on earth he could have got it from, was more than I and our policeman could ever make out.

Was ever a poor dear married lady so tormented in all her life? That Duffy was bad enough, as the reader can plainly see now; but that Wittals was ten times worse, as the reader shall see presently. Now, par examp (as we say at Bologne-sur-mere,) dear—dear—dear uncle R—msb—tt—m, like a good generous old soul as he is, would go sending up to that cherub of a Kitty of mine, a beautiful little love of a pet lamb, that had the most heavenly fore and hind quarters I think I ever beheld in all my born days; and it was so nice and fat that it quite made my mouth water to look at it—even alive. Still it was so fond and tame, and that darling ducks-o’-diamonds of a Kitty of mine was so pleased with her tiddy-ickle bar-lam as she used to call it—bless her little eyes! (please excuse a fond mother’s feelings, gentle reader,)—that, though I couldn’t look at the animal without thinking of mint sauce, and the animal cost me near upon a shilling a week for bread, and milk, and turnips, yet I thought as dear good uncle R—msb—tt—m had sent it up, and as he was Kitty’s godfather, and had neither chick nor child, and was actually rolling in money (if I might be allowed so strong an expression) I thought, I say, he might be offended, if it came to his ears that we had eaten the darling little pet for dinner, immediately after its arrival in town. So we put a sweet pretty blue sarsnet ribbon round its fat neck, and kept it in the garden by day, and the knife house by night, till really the thing’s bed-chamber “foohed” so, that it was enough to knock you down. The worst of it was, too, that do what we would, we could not keep the little love’s white coat clean in this grubby “metropolis of the world,” though we scoured it well at least once a week in our own foot-bath; for directly after we had washed it, and put it out in the garden again, down would come the smuts so thick, that in less than half-an-hour one would have fancied the natural colour of the poppet’s coat was pepper and salt; and what used to put me in such a passion was, if I went out in the garden of an evening, in my sweet white muslin skirt and black velvet body to fondle the dingy little brute, it would get so affectionate, I declare, and would come rubbing up against my flounces, until they looked as black as a coal heaver’s stockings on a Saturday. But what annoyed me more than all was—bother take the thing!—it would grow so fast, that, though I must have wasted at least a gallon of gin in trying to stop its growth, still it was all of no use, and I only kept making the creature so tipsy, that it would prance about like a mad thing, and half frighten me out of my life. Pet lambs are one thing, but the idea of going and bestowing your affections on a great hulking sheep with horns long enough to poke both your eyes out, was what I had no notion of doing. Plague take that cruel Wittals too! no sooner had he set foot in the house, and seen this new member of the family, than his great delight used to be to catch hold of the poor thing by the two horns, directly they began to grow, one in each hand, and keep pushing the animal backwards and forwards until really he made the beast as savage as a tiger, and taught it to butt so, that upon my word it would run at you with its head down, for all the world like one of those stupid Cornish wrestlers. As for that fat coward of a Duffy, positively he was so afraid of what in his stupid country dialect he called the “wicked mutton,” that I couldn’t for the life of me get the fellow to go near the poor thing; and if Wittals hadn’t been there, it must have stopped out every night, and may be died of rheumatism from sleeping out on the damp grass, instead of in a comfortable warm knife-house. So matters went on, until Kitty’s little pet got to be a great waddling monster of a sheep, and only grew more and more savage from being always tied up to our apple tree, and fatter and fatter from want of exercise, while all the time mutton kept getting higher and higher, from I don’t know what, until at last it seemed to me a shameful sin to go wasting good wholesome turnips, at three bunches for fippence, on such a creature, when one of its legs would eat so beautifully, boiled, with some of those very turnips.

Well! like a thrifty housewife as I am, I had half made up my mind to have one of the great hulking pet’s haunches, with red currant jelly, for dinner the next Sunday, while it was nice and young and tender, when dear mother luckily called in to see me, and I thought I would consult with her on the subject. On going to the window, to show her what prime condition the darling was in, I declare, if the brute hadn’t got away from the apple tree, and wasn’t right in my flower-bed, making a hearty meal off the few double stocks and sweet-williams I had in my garden, and which I prided myself so much upon, and the Simmonds’s were so jealous of. I gave a slight scream, and rang the bell for that dare-devil of a Wittals, knowing that it was no good looking for any assistance from that chicken-hearted stupid of a Duffy. But, of course, Wittals, as is always the case when he’s wanted, had slipped out after some more of that sticky sweet-stuff, which I’m continually obliged to be taking away from him, and eating myself, to prevent him from spoiling his livery. So, as I couldn’t stand still and see my beautiful sweet-williams eaten up before my very eyes, I ran down the garden steps, and catching hold of the end of the rope, tried to drag the woolly cannibal back to the apple tree. But no sooner did I tug the wretch away from the flowers, than off it set scampering round and round me, until, I declare, it wound the cord all about my poor legs, for all the world as if I had been a peg-top and it meant to send me spinning—which sure enough, whether he meant it or not, it did. For, directly it got my feet bound fast together with the rope, so that I couldn’t stir an inch, “the wicked mutton,” as Mr. Duffy called it, rushed full butt at me, and immediately up went my legs, and down I came bump on the grass, with a force that I felt for months afterwards. I set to screaming directly as loud as I could for Mother and Duffy, and kicking with all my might,—for, my legs being tied, I, of course, couldn’t get up, and there was the savage brute poking away with its horns, like the prongs of a pitchfork, at the cotton tops of my silk stockings. At last, just as I’d got my poor feet free from the rope by my continued kickings, thank goodness! I heard the garden door slam to, and knew, by Duffy’s puffing and blowing, and Mother’s “pshewing” away like a rocket, that assistance was at hand. But, alas! no sooner did the rampant beast catch sight of that Duffy’s red plush thingomybobs, than, attracted by the colour I suppose, off it scampered towards the porpoise; and no sooner did that coward of a Duffy catch sight of the rampant beast coming full gallop towards him, than he let fall, with fright, the broom he had come armed with to my help, and taking to his fat legs, ran round the garden, blowing like an asthmatic grampus, with the wicked mutton tearing after him like a woolly maniac. Just as he had got within a yard or so of me, and I had managed to raise myself on my hands and knees, oh! lud-a-mercy me! the savage brute rushed full butt at him behind with such force, that the great fat hulking monster cried out, “O—oo!” and was pitched sprawling right on to my poor back, and down I went again, flop, with such force, that if the fellow—though no sylph—hadn’t been as plump and soft as a feather bed, I do verily believe I should have been taken up a human pancake, and had to have been buried in one of the cracks in Dover cliffs, or some such horrible out-of-the-way place.

Poor dear respected mother—who up to this moment had been very prudent, and never left the garden-steps—the very minute she saw that fat Duffy a-top of me, and that “wicked mutton” jumping with all its might a-top of Duffy, rushed down to our rescue, shaking her handkerchief, like a stupid old thing as she is—for she ought, at her time of life, to have known that it would only have made the infuriated brute wilder than ever. And so to her cost it did; for no sooner did the animal see her, than at her it ran, and, just as she got close to our beautiful large variegated holly-bush, it gave such a poke at her busk, that back the dear respected old soul went, right into the middle of the horrid prickly shrub, and there the nasty brute stood, butting away at her, and pushing her further and further into the bush, until, what with the agony of the sharp prickles at her back, and the fear of the furious animal’s horns in front, I declare the poor dear old thing screamed in such a way, that it cut me to the quick to be obliged—when I’d kicked and tumbled that mountain of a Duffy off my back—to fly for my own life, and turn a deaf ear, not only to her heart-rending cries, but also to her pathetic entreaties to bring either the kitchen poker or the spit, and drive the mad beast from her. And well can I understand her screaming now, for when that monkey of a Wittals came in again, and he’d got my dear respected mother out of the holly-bush, upon my word, if the poor old soul’s back wasn’t pierced all over with the fine-pointed prickly things, and as full of little holes as a captain’s biscuit!—and no wonder; for, as luck would have it, she’d got on my thin fine Swiss cambric dress, which, having been quite spoilt, drat it! at the washing, I had kindly made her a present of on her last birth-day.

Any gentle reader, in her proper senses, may readily suppose that after this I wasn’t long in giving that over-grown coward of a Duffy notice to quit. Of course I didn’t see the fun of keeping a man to walk after me as a protection who was frightened out of his wits by a trumpery “wicked mutton,” which a mere whiskerless brat could take by the horns whenever he liked. But no sooner had I told the good-for-nothing that he would be pleased to leave my service that day month, than I declare if he didn’t turn round and tell me to my very face, “that he would do so with all the pleasure in life,” saying, “it was a place to take the very life out of a man” (I think so, indeed, with only two in family, and little or no plate to clean); and that he never knew what work was before in all his life (pretty work, indeed!—a couple of trumpery tea-cups to wash up of a morning, and a page to help him); so he actually had the impudence to think I had better pay him his month, and let him leave the wretched slavery that very minute, or else he knew he should have to take to his bed with illness, for he shouldn’t be able to put out his hand to do a thing shortly from overwork, and then I should have to nurse him. Nurse him, indeed! Should I?—when all the time I knew it was only a mere make-believe to cheat me out of a month’s wages. Augh! I do detest people that pretend they’re ill just to gain their own selfish ends!

Accordingly I gave my delicate elephant to understand that he’d get no month’s wages out of me, unless I first got a month’s work out of him, to which my gentleman merely answered, between his teeth, “He’d see about that;” and he said it in such a nasty, spiteful way, that convinced me he meant something horrible. Sure enough so he did; for when I rang the bell for him to bring up the tray, to lay the things for dinner, I all of a sudden heard the most tremendous crash, as if ten thousand chimney-pots had fallen through two thousand skylights. I rushed to the top of the kitchen stairs, and cried out, “Good heavens, Duffy! what’s that?” when I declare if he hadn’t the coolness to answer, “It’s only me, mum, a breaking the plates and dishes.” I tore down to the pantry, and told him I’d have him punished; and then, of course, it was, his “foot had slipped, and I couldn’t punish him for a mere accident.” “Accident, indeed!” I said to myself, as I marched up stairs again, “oh, yes! it’s one of those many precious accidents which, even in the best regulated families, are done on purpose.” But, what could I do? I knew the spiteful good-for-nothing lout would swear till he was black in the face that his foot did slip; and how was poor I to prove to the contrary?

I declare the man went on so, that I soon saw I should be several pounds in pocket by paying the fellow what he wanted, and getting him out of the house as soon as possible. Now, there were my beautiful cut glass decanters, (which belonged to Mr. Sk—n—st—n’s poor dear first wife,) well, nothing would suit my gentleman, but he must go washing them in scalding hot water, and then, pretending to be astonished because they went crack, flying in every direction. But, of course, that was the fault of the glass, and none of his—oh, no! Then, again, too, the revengeful monkey must go wiping all the dirty knives with my very best glass cloths, which I had bought new expressly for him, until they were as full of cuts and gashes as poor dear father’s shoes when he’s got the gout. And, positively, do what I would, I could not prevent him from cleaning his shoes in my dress livery, until, what with the blacking and his carelessness, upon my word, his red plush thingomys were all over black spots, like the back of a ladybird, and his beautiful white coat as grubby as the outside of St. Paul’s. As for making the monkey stir of a morning, too, I declare it was no use trying, for though I commenced ringing at six o’clock, to a minute, and kept on pulling away—determined that if the fat, lazy sloth wouldn’t get up to see about my breakfast, at least he shouldn’t have another wink of sleep,—yet I couldn’t for the life of me get him to come up for the keys till near upon eight o’clock at the earliest; though how on earth the pig ever managed to snore through it all was a wonder to me, for it struck me it must be very like trying to take a nap in a belfry on the coronation day. But on going into my gentleman’s room, one fine morning, upon my word, if the fat, lazy, cunning fox hadn’t crammed one of his nasty, dirty stockings into the mouth of the bell, until I declare it wouldn’t speak any more than a married lady in the sulks. So, really and truly, when I came to think of it, was it worth while for a trumpery month’s wages to let the fellow remain in the house till all my glass and crockery were broken to shivers, and my beautiful queen’s-pattern plated coffee-pot, with silver edges, was all battered in, as horribly as the pewter quart measure at a fruit-stall. Accordingly, I made the best of a bad bargain, and packed the scoundrel out of the house, telling him not to expect a character from me. When he had gone, and I examined his livery to see whether by any manner of means I could have it cleaned for my next footman, I give the reader my word and honour, if the fat savage hadn’t been wiping on the skirts of my beautiful white coat the dirty pens with which he’d been answering the advertisements in the Times, and all the left sleeve was streaked over with ink, till it had as many black marks upon it as a mackerel’s back.

As for that Wittals, there was no bearing with him either; for bad as he was before, I declare if that Duffy hadn’t so inoculated him with all the airs of a grown-up footman, that, upon my word, he seemed to think it a positive disgrace to work for his living. So I told him, very quietly, I had been turning it over in my mind, and if he had any wish to better himself, I should be very happy to exert myself to find him an excellent situation, and make it a moral duty to give him a good character, which, I said, he knew as well as I did, he didn’t deserve. And nicely I caught it for my kindness, after all; for, bother take it! he went on so shamefully in his new place, that I declare if his brute of a master didn’t begin an action against us, for giving a servant a false character; and we had to compromise it by paying goodness knows how much!

However, I determined that this should be a lesson to me not to give any more good characters in a hurry, but to speak the truth in future. So, when that Duffy, who was out of place again six months, came to me, as thin as a German umbrella, and as meek as a pew-opener, to hope that I would look over what had past, and say a good word for him, I told him pretty plainly, “Oh, yea! I’d speak for him, and do him perfect justice, he might rest assured.” Accordingly, I just gave a plain, unvarnished statement of all his goings on, and shameful pilferings, when, of course, the party refused to have anything at all to do with him. And then, bother take it, if he didn’t get some pettifogging lawyer to bring an action against us for libel (truth is a libel, Edward says)—so that, positively, this time we had to pay goodness knows how much more again for giving a servant a true character—drat it!

This very naturally convinced me that the only safe way of acting was to refuse to give any character at all to servants. Accordingly, when that stupid, stupid cook—whom I’d little or no fault to find with, excepting that she was so taken up with Wittals and Duffy that I thought it best to give her notice to go when they did, lest she should set the new servants against their place—accordingly, I say, when she wished to know when it would suit me to see the lady with whom she was going to live, I told her that she needn’t think of sending any of her ladies to me, for I had made up my mind not to say one word about her conduct either one way or the other. And then—drat that common law, which Mr. Edward will have is the perfection of common sense—we had another plaguy action brought against us, and had a third time to pay as much as would have bought us two beautiful opera pit tickets for the season, for taking the bread out of a person’s mouth, and refusing to give a servant any character at all.

This little insight into human nature, made me so disgusted with servants, and taught me that they were such a bad, worthless, ungrateful set, that of course I showed very little consideration for their trumpery feelings afterwards, and I kept bundling them out of the house, one after another so quickly, that I had them coming in and going out as fast as the people at the Bank of England on a dividend-day. But after a year or so of this continual changing, Mr. Edward did get so fidgety, and to tell the truth, I myself got so sick of writing answers to those stupid advertisements of “Want Places,” and spending a whole fortune in postage-stamps, for a pack of letters to your “GOOD PLAIN COOKS,” and “STEADY, ACTIVE, YOUNG MEN, who have no objection to travel,” (I dare say they haven’t—and no more should I have, for the matter of that, if any one would pay my expenses for me,) that, upon my word, at last I thought it might save me a world of bother, if—as the creatures were always grumbling at being over-worked in my establishment—I paid some attention to what they said for once in a way, and allowed them to have another pair of hands to help them. And then, odds-bobs and buttercups! directly I had been great silly enough to listen to the complaints of one of them, of course all the others expected I should do as much for them!

First, the nursery-maid, owing to the increase of my family, (for I went on blessing Edward with another little tiddy-ickle-petsy-wetsy of a beautiful baby—with, thank heaven, all its dear little limbs right and straight—regularly every eighteen months)—first, the nursery-maid, I repeat, found it impossible to mind so many young children without an under one to assist her. And when I, like a ninny, had coaxed Edward to allow her to have what she wanted, then, of course, the housemaid (directly we had an extra story put on to our villa, from sheer want of bed-rooms) must find out that the house was too large for her to attend to single-handed, so she must needs want an under one as well. Well, when I had wheedled Mr. Edward into that too—for as he very beautifully and philosophically said, throwing up his hands and tearing his hair, “Oh, anything you like, for peace and quiet”—then the cook must walk into the parlour and tell me, that we were so many in family now, and there were so many dinners to cook—one for the nursery, one for the kitchen, and one for the parlour—that really the plates and dishes were more than one person’s time to wash up, and she was sure her constitution would give way under it unless she had a scullery-maid to help her. So then, I had to carney, and fondle, and flatter that Edward for days, and when that wouldn’t do, to get out of temper and sulk for weeks with him together, in order to let the poor cook have a maid under her, too, in the kitchen. But, then, the worst of it was, that what with the upper nursery maid and the under nurserymaid—the upper housemaid and the under housemaid—the cook and the scullery maid—and the footman and the page into the bargain—positively, I had our poking villa so full of servants, that we were as short of beds as a country town during the assizes: and, as our lease had still fifteen years to run, and since, owing to that bothering, rattling railway at the back of us, we couldn’t get anybody to take it off our hands, and as—plague take those maids—I could not get them to sleep three in a tester anyhow, why, drat it, there we had to go putting another and another story to our residence, till I declare our villa looked like an old Jew with three hats on.

However, if I must tell the truth, I didn’t object to this so much after all; for I felt that the great, big, grand house, we had now got over our heads, and the large retinue of servants we had at our backs, did give us such a position in this empty world, and such a footing in hollow-hearted society, that—notwithstanding Mr. Edward was always telling me, I and my servants were driving him into the Queen’s Bench as fast as he could gallop, or even a National Theatre could take him—still for the sake of my four poor dear children, and those yet to come, I determined not to give way—even so much as a scullery maid—no! not if I had to be afflicted with a violent neuralgia again—or even St. Vitus’s dance in the height of summer, for it.

But I was far from being as happy in the midst of all this grandeur as I had, like a stupid girl as I am, foolishly expected; for no sooner had I got eight servants dangling at my heels, than, lud-a-mussy-me! if I could get as much attention or as much peace and quiet as when I had only one—a mere servant of all work—to wait upon me. If I wanted anything done, positively, it didn’t seem to be anybody’s place to do it. For instance, let me tell the footman to sweep up a few crumbs from under the table, of course it wasn’t his place—but he’d send the housemaid; then let me tell the housemaid to bring up some more coals, of course it wasn’t her place—but she’d send the footman. If I told the upper nurserymaid to make me a little warm water-gruel, for my little angel’s bottle (love its sweet eyes!) oh dear me, no! even this was too much, it wasn’t her place—but she’d tell the under one. If I went down stairs, too, to see about dinner, and just asked the cook to wash a trumpery basin for me—bless you! she couldn’t think of soiling her delicate hands with a dish-clout; no! it wasn’t her place—but she’d tell the scullery-maid. Augh! the lazy, good-for-nothing pack of leeches! And what did they think was their place, then, I should like to know? I can tell them what I think their place was! and that’s—a very snug berth, with little or nothing to do, but to try their hardest to eat me out of house and home—and that’s what it was.

CHAPTER XVI.

AND THE LAST, (thank goodness! say I.)

When he came after the place, I thought I never saw such a fine, honest, open countenance in all my born days; and the man did appear so clean, and was so respectful and meek, and so willing and good-tempered looking, and was so fond of children, that, I declare, if he didn’t ask me if he might shake hands with my little Kitty (who was now nearly seven, and, as he said, as fine and pretty a girl for her age as he’d ever beheld, and so like its mamma.) The sole stipulation he made, was that he might be allowed to go to church at least twice every Sunday—though this only pleased me the more with him. And when he told me he had lived for the last eighteen years with one of the bishops of the land (bless us and save us! I said to myself, there’s a character for you!) and that the only cause for his leaving was, that his poor master, who had always been a kind one to him, had got embarrassed in railway speculations, and been obliged to break up his palace in the country. His lady, however, was staying in town, and would be happy to see me any morning I pleased to name; so, as I had no idea of letting such a treasure of a servant slip through my fingers, I made the appointment for the very next day. The Bishop’s lady—who had the first floor over a very nice pastry-cook’s in May-fair, for a temporary residence in London—received me with great condescension, and told me with almost tears in her poor eyes, that Thompson’s account was very true, and that if anything in their difficulties grieved her more than another, it was parting with such an estimable treasure as that good, honest, worthy man. I don’t think I ever saw such a perfect lady in all my life. Her dress though, it struck me, was a little too showy for a person in her station; and (between ourselves) when I looked at her steadfastly in the face, I declare if the beautiful high colour she had got on her cheeks wasn’t as artificial as a Grand Banquet on the stage. Still, as I knew that the heads of our mother church had none of your tight-laced, puritanical notions about dress—and if they had, why they confined them chiefly to the lead-coloured quaker-cut liveries of their men-servants—I didn’t see why a poor wife shouldn’t wear what she liked. Her ladyship apologized for the absence of his lordship, informing me that he was down in the country attending to his flock, so that I at once saw the dreadful straits to which they were reduced, and couldn’t help feeling how hard it must be for the poor man at his time of life to have to begin to work for his living. And I’m sure, from her ladyship’s charming manners, which—though, perhaps, a leetle too free for the vulgar world—still proved to me that she had been accustomed all her days to better things. She spoke of Thompson in such affectionate terms, that I couldn’t help thinking she was the best of mistresses, while he was the best of servants; and poor I, the luckiest of women, to have fallen in with such people. Just as I was about to say “good morning” and take my leave, a dashing cabriolet drove up, and her ladyship, on looking through the window, exclaimed, “De-har, de-har me! if it is’nt the archbeeshop, my de-har reverend uncle! why what evar keyan have brought ‘York’ up to town. Perhaps you will be keyind enough to exkeyuse me.” In my politest way I answered, “Certainly,” and sailing like a swan out of the room, I determined to have a good stare at the archbishop as I marched down stairs. When I peeped through the window in the passage that gave into the shop, there he was, dressed in the first style of fashion, eating brandy cherries with his white kid gloves on, and—what at the time I couldn’t for the life of me understand—a pair of the most beautiful little curly mustachios I ever recollect to have seen in all my born days.

Well, the first night after that treasure of a Thompson had entered our service, and we had been in bed from four to five hours, judging by our rushlight, I was dreaming that I was flying so nicely, just skimming along the surface of the earth, for all the world as if I was a great goose, and saying to myself, “Ah! now I see how it’s done; you have only got to hold your breath, and wag your arms—so,” when I was awoke by the sound of a pair of heavy boots tramping up stairs. First, I thought it was that plaguy kitten, playing with Edward’s Wellingtons, outside the door, and dragging them down the stairs after her; but, lud-a-mercy-me, on looking at the door, I declare if I couldn’t see, by the bright line of light shining underneath it, that somebody was in the house. So I bounced out of bed, and turning the key, (for we had only got the night bolt down,) I snatched up my beautiful amethyst brooch off the dressing-table, as well as (between ourselves) my false front tooth out of the tumbler of water there, and popping them both under the pillow, I jumped into bed again, determined to sell them only with my life. I had no sooner succeeded in waking Mr. Sk—n—st—n, who sleeps as heavy as an alderman at church, than positively the handle of the door began to move. Up jumped Edward, and I clung to him like a barnacle, saying, in a low whisper, “What are you about?—would you risk your precious life when you know it’s not insured?” But out he got, and down I dived under the clothes almost to the bottom of the bed, expecting every minute that I should be dragged out by my hair, and forced by a couple of villains, holding a pistol at each of my ears, to give up not only my love of a brooch to pacify them, but even my superb ivory front tooth, which had, at least, five shillings’ worth of gold about it. The first thing I heard when I took my fingers out of my ears, was the sound of a stranger’s voice, saying, “Do you know as your street door is open?” Then, coming up from under the bed-clothes, and putting my head half out between the curtains, while I held them together as close as ever I could, there I saw a great, big, black policeman standing at our bed-room door, with his dark lantern in his hand, and Mr. Edward, in the chintz dressing-gown I made him out of the old covering to our easy chair, staring at him with all his eyes, and with his old militia sword in one hand, and the rushlight out of the shade in the other. On taking a second look at the policeman, whose face I thought I remembered somewhere, oh, heavens! if I didn’t know, by the size of his whiskers, it was the impudent puppy who had winked at me over the parlour blinds. And then, drat his impudence, if he didn’t turn his bull’s eye full upon me in my nightcap, and this made me blink so, that positively I do believe the fellow must have thought that I was winking at him. So I pulled the curtains to, as quick as I could, and giving a slight scream, I told Edward to go down stairs with the man that very moment, and make our treasure of a footman get up and see whether the spoons and forks were all right. He couldn’t have been gone five minutes, when back Mr. Sk—n—st—n came, tearing up stairs, in a towering passion, with the gratifying information that my treasure of a footman, who had stipulated to go to church, at least twice every Sunday, and lived for the last eighteen years with one of the bishops of the land, had gone off with the

whole of our silver plate, and left nothing but that bilious-looking “British” behind him.

Of course, Mr. Edward made out that it was all my fault, and would have it that if I’d had a grain of sense in my head, I might have seen that the character was false, and the bishop’s lady a common impostor—as, indeed, her reverend ladyship turned out. For when I went after her the next day, to give it her well, I learnt that she, too, had decamped from her lodgings the very same night as her inestimable treasure of a Thompson, without paying the week’s rent, and leaving nothing behind her but an empty rouge pot, and a hair trunk full of brickbats.

I needn’t tell the reader, I suppose, that I never heard the last of this; and positively, I was no sooner out of one scrape than, with so many bothering servants about one, I was into another.

You see everybody worth speaking of had left town for the season, and as I wouldn’t for the world have had it thought that I hadn’t gone for a trip on the Continent, I was forced, owing to Mr. Edward’s stinginess, and continual declarations that he was being ruined, to paper up the drawing-room blinds, and shut up all the shutters in front, to make believe that I was either at Paris, or Margate; while all the while I was living at the back of the house, very nearly in the dark, and like a vegetable had grown so white from mere want of light, that, positively, my face had no more colour in it than a potatoe-shoot in a coal-cellar. So, as my fine gentleman was taking his pleasure at the Warwick Assizes, and wouldn’t give me his consent to leave London, why I started off one fine morning without it, sending a letter for Mr. Edward, telling him that I had gone down to Gravesend, and leaving word with the servants, that I had gone up the Rhine. Then, packing up my carpet-bag and bonnet-box, and luckily catching the “Father of the Thames” at Hungerford-market, I jumped on it, and was soon at the end of my voyage. But Mr. Edward—just like his mean spite—wouldn’t send me the money I had written to him for; consequently, as lodgings were so high, and those filthy, gassy shrimps so dear, and the donkey-boys so extortionate, and I’d had enough of tea-parties at that stupid Windmill Hill, and was tired of those twopenny-halfpenny fêtes at Rosherville Gardens, and the housekeeping money I had brought with me was nearly all gone—why, in a fit of disgust, one evening, I packed up my carpet-bag and bonnet-box again, and putting myself on board the sixpenny opposition steamer, was soon landed at London Bridge—though I had expressly bargained with the cheats to take me on to Hungerford.

When I got home, I was astonished to see all the drawing-room shutters of the house open, and such a blaze of light in the room, that if I hadn’t known that Edward was still at the assizes, I should have declared some one had been lighting up my chandelier and candelabras in my absence. I went over to the other side of the way, and then, if I didn’t see such a number of shadows, moving to and fro, on the blinds, that I plainly perceived the room was full of company; and then I could tell by the motions of one of the black things handing some article or other to some one, who was drinking something, that a grand evening party was going on in my first floor, without my knowing a word about it. So I went to the door, and gave a gentle ring, so as not to alarm the company. Presently it was opened by that scullery-maid dressed out,—oh! you should have seen the thing—mercy! how she was dressed to be sure! Directly she saw me, she made a rush towards the stairs, but knowing by her dress and manner that something was wrong, I stopped her by catching hold of the skirt of her trumpery shilling-a-yard crimson, French poplin dress—with a broad satin stripe upon it, to make it look rich—and, pulling it all out of the gathers so nicely, dragged the tawdry, fal-lal minx into the back parlour, and turned the key upon her. Then I crept on tip-toe up stairs to the drawing-room door, where I stood listening to all that was going on within. “Will yer hallow me to hoffer yer some of this ere am, Miss,” said what I could have sworn was the young man at our grocer’s.—“You are very keyind, certingly, Mr. Roberts,” said that grand affected bit-of-goods of my upper housemaid. “Come, Miss Saunders,” said my footman, “you aint a doing nuffin; make yerself at home, I beg. Will yer allow Mrs. Fisher to send yer just a mouthful of her hexcellent kawphy.” “You’re very perlite, Mr. Heddard,” answered that under nurserymaid, drat her; “since yer so pressing, I’ll just try a wineglas of that there dog’s-nose, and then, if the kimpany his hagreeable I’ll take the libbity of propogin a toast.” And

”]

when they had all answered, “Ho, yes, certingly,” the barefaced minx said, “Here’s hold missus! and hopen has how her trip hup the Rhind will keep her a good month longer at Gravesend.” And then, after a general titter, I could hear them all getting up from their chairs, and saying one after another, “Here’s hold missus!” and sure enough here’s hold missus it was, for in I bounced among them just at that moment, and then it was—“Oh dear, who would have thought it,”—and there was such a scene, no one can tell. Off fainted that under housemaid, right into the arms of Mr. Roberts, and down went my glasses and decanters out of Mr. “Heddard’s” hands, who endeavoured to hide himself under the table, and then over it went; for up jumped Mrs. Fisher from her chair, upsetting my best china tea set in her alarm, while some hid themselves behind the door, and others behind the satin damask ottomans. Then away they all slunk, first one and then another, whilst I was giving it to that Mrs. Fisher, who had got her front fresh baked for the grand occasion. And when I’d given her notice to quit, I went down into the kitchen, and did the same to every one of them there, telling them they need none of them expect any character from me.

On Mr. Edward’s arrival, which was just upon a fortnight afterwards, I felt it my duty, of course, to let him know all that had occurred, and what I had done; but my fine gentleman didn’t say a word, and only walked whistling up and down the room; and when I told him that I couldn’t make out what had come to servants now-a-days, for that, do what I would, I could not get a good one, he had the impudence to turn round and say, “No; and you never will, as long as you live, Madam.”

“And why shouldn’t I, Mr. Clever?” I inquired.

“Because, Mam, good mistresses make good servants.”

“Well, indeed!” I answered, “I do admire that. I should rather think it was just the very reverse, and that good servants made good mistresses. I suppose, then, you mean to say that I am not fit to have the management of my own house!”

“I do, Caroline. Ah, you may stare; but management, as you call it, or government, as I term it, is not quite so easy a science as you seem to imagine. Every family is in itself a little kingdom, and it requires almost as much knowledge to rule wisely in the one as in the other.”

“Very pretty!” I said. “Pray go on; perhaps you will tell me how I am to govern, as you call it?”

“Why, madam, there are but two ways. Human nature can only be ruled through its love or through its fears. The one leads our fellow-creatures to serve us as willing friends, the other forces them to serve us as unwilling slaves. It is for you and other mistresses to choose between the two—remembering that it is the natural disposition of kindness to beget kindness, and of tyranny to beget rebellion?”

“Oh, indeed!” I replied. “Then I suppose you would like your system of kindness carried out in the kitchen? and nicely they’d treat you for it!”

“Indeed, I think not. At any rate, the stake is so little that it is worth the risk; and I, for one, have such faith in the power of kindness, combined with firmness, that though I don’t mean to say but that you might occasionally meet with ingratitude, still that would merely be the exception that proves the rule. The heart has been so wonderfully constructed that it has not been left to us to choose whether we would be thankful or not for benefits received; but gratitude has been, made an animal instinct. The very dog likes the hand that fosters it, and I do not think servants worse than dogs—though you and many other ladies I know seem to do so. Do you not expect from your domestics that they should consider your interest theirs, and yet you forget that the first step in the process is to make their happiness yours. How did they manage in the olden time? There was none of this hubbub about bad servants then, and none of this continual changing and changing; but the old servant’s son grew, like his father, to be grey in the service of the same family. And why was this? Because he was looked upon, and treated, and loved like one of the family.

“Very pretty talk,” I answered; “then, I dare say, you would like them to come and sit down at the same table with us?”

“They did so then, in many families, and certainly in all families of the same rank as our own. And what was the consequence? Why they felt, as they ate at the same board, that they participated in the comforts and property of their master, and consequently had the same desire as he had to increase the one and protect the other.”

“Well, then,” I answered, “why not have yours up, and let them dine with you every day, if you prefer their company to mine, for I’m not going to sit at the same table with them, I can tell you!”

“No, Caroline, society has so altered since the time I am speaking of, that he who would endeavour to return to the old custom must be more case-hardened against the world’s ridicule than I am. To be candid, I am too much of a moral coward to be a moral Quixote. Society, as at present constituted, is so based upon pride, vanity, and show, that the principal struggle of life, in what is called the “genteel world,” is how to trick your neighbour into the belief that you are twice as rich as you really are—a species of moral swindling, or obtaining the world’s estimation under false pretences. And what comes of all this? Why, they who have but their three or four hundred a year must make it appear to the world that they have a thousand, and all this by good management, as it is termed—or in plainer words, by pinching the belly to adorn their back.”

“Well, sir,” I stammered out, for I was getting in a passion—“proceed—pray proceed—I’m quite interested with the rubbish.”

“As I was saying, then, Madam, we put ourselves to all kinds of unnecessary expense to gain the good opinion of mere acquaintances and comparative strangers, who don’t care a snap of the fingers for us; and in order to do this, and “make both ends meet,” as we call it, we stint ourselves, and those about us, of a thousand little luxuries which would make home dear and happy, wholly regardless of either the feelings or the esteem of those who live under the same roof with ourselves, and whose affection can add so much to our comfort.”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” I added; “I’m perfectly of your opinion,—let the servants do just as they please,—and a deal of comfort at home we should have then.”

“Your fault, and the fault of many other ladies I could name, is, that you have your servants—like your furniture—for show—though—unlike your furniture—you don’t think you can spoil them, however much you use them. And then you wonder that they don’t treat you with respect, but take every advantage they can of you. You carry out your contract to the mere dry letter with them, and yet are continually grumbling because they don’t carry out theirs to the spirit with you. Only let mistresses be kind—yet firm with their servants, and at the same time speak the whole truth, and nothing but the truth of them, to one another, and depend upon it, the laws of mere human nature are such, that servants—with few exceptions—will be willing, obedient, and devoted to them.”

Then my fine philosopher, having concluded his moral lecture, went on telling me, first, that my love of display had ruined him; and next, that he had made up his mind to turn over a new leaf, and to cut down a few of the showy-extravagances at home, instead of beggaring himself for the sake of my mere acquaintances; and lastly, that the first step he intended to take was to reduce the eight servants he had in his house to two at the most.

“Then all I can say is, sir,” I replied, “that you must get rid of me also; for I’m not going to stop in it, sir, I can tell you, to be pointed at by the whole world as a lady who had once kept her eight servants, and now can only afford to keep her two.”

And the only reply the brute made me was, “That I might do as I pleased.”—“Indeed!” said I to myself, “I see what it is, my grand Turk; I must read you another part of my strong lessons, and if I don’t have you down on your knees for all this, why my name’s not Sk—n—st—n.” So, what did I do, but I rose from my chair in a most stately way, and looking divorces, or at least separate maintenances, at him, I marched out of the room as dignified as a drum-major. Having written a very strong letter to the monster, telling him that his ill-treatment had driven me to dear, dear respected mother’s, and that I hoped and trusted he wouldn’t come after me, as I now really, positively, and truly, had left him “FOR EVER,” I was no sooner out of the door than I began to repent of what I had done, for I remembered mother’s maxim, that husbands never came after their wives twice, and I was even doubtful how she would receive me under the circumstances. Sure enough, too, I didn’t meet with the welcome from her that she gave me on the previous occasion; and drat it! if, after a week had elapsed, and no Mr. Sk—n—st—n had come, she didn’t tell me I had better go back. But I told her, “I wouldn’t go near the place—no, not for the whole world—for fear he should see me;” adding that, as all the servants were going at the end of the month, he’d be sure to come and fetch me when he was left alone in the house, and wanted me to get him some more.” Oh! they are so selfish, these men.

After three weeks had gone by, and still no Mr. Sk—n—st—n, mother told me that the thing looked very serious, and said, “she would go round to Edward with me, and either force him to take me back, or make me a handsome allowance; for, to tell the truth, she couldn’t afford to keep me any longer, unless she was paid for it.”

When we got to our villa, what should I see, the very first thing, but my beautiful stair-carpets hanging out of window, with a large auctioneer’s bill pasted on them, announcing that all our costly furniture, together with the valuable lease of our desirable premises, was to be sold “without reserve” that very day, at that very hour; and when I went into the place, I declare if all the carpets and oil-cloths hadn’t been taken up, and all the things ticketed, and huddled together in confusion, while the drawing-room was as full of Jew brokers as it could hold, “foohing” away enough to knock one down.

In my stupid way, I had been overdoing it again; for, on making inquiries, I found that Mr. Edward, disgusted at being left alone in that great big house, without even a wife or a servant to wait upon him, and, moreover, having received a letter from Mrs. Y—pp, his mother-in-law No. 2, saying that she purposed, at Christmas, coming to spend another month with her “dear boy, at his beautiful villa,” had rushed off and taken up his residence in a common boarding house in G—ldf—rd St—t, R—ss—ll Sq—re, n—r the F—ndl—ng H—sp—t—l, where I am at present staying, and where I intend to stay so long as Mr. Edward does, for if I leave him again, “FOR EVER,” my name’s not